Shadow Spell (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 2)

“We’ve worked and worried, planned and plotted. It’s time we took a night. We’ll hope he hears our music, and it burns his ears.”

“I won’t argue with that.” More contemplatively now, Meara took another sip of beer. “I hate to risk spoiling this rare mood of yours, but I should tell you I saw him twice today—the shadow. First of the man, and next the wolf. Just watching, no more than that. But sure it’s enough to play on the nerves.”

“He does it for that, so we’ll show him he can’t stop us from living. And speaking of just that, I’ll need you both upstairs.”

“You’re full of surprises and mystery,” Meara decided. “Do the others know you’re after having a party?” she asked as they started upstairs.

“Connor will let them know.”

Branna led them into her bedroom, where, unlike Connor’s, everything was perfectly in place.

She had the largest space—built to her specifications when she and Connor expanded the cottage. She’d painted the walls a deep forest green, and with the dark, tree-bark trim, she often thought it was like sleeping in the deep woods. She’d chosen the art carefully, following fancy with paintings of mermaids and faeries, dragons and elves.

She’d indulged herself with the bed, with a Celtic trinity knot carved into its high head– and footboard. A garden of pillows mounded on its thick white duvet. A chest, built and painted by her great-grandfather sat at its foot and held the most precious of the tools of her craft.

She fetched a long hook from her closet and, fitting it into the little slot in the ceiling, drew down the attic door and steps.

“I need to get something. I’ll only be a minute.”

“It always feels so peaceful in here.” Iona walked to the windows that looked out over fields and woods to the roll of green hills beyond.

“They do good work between them, Branna and Connor. I envy her en suite bath with that big tub and the hectare of counter. Of course if I had that much counter in my bath, I’d clutter it up. And hers has . . .”

Meara went to the door, peeked in. “A pretty vase of calla lilies, fancy soaps in a dish, three fat white candles on gorgeous silver holders. I’d say it was witchcraft, but she’s just brutal about tidiness.”

“I wish some of it would rub off on me,” Iona said as Branna came down the steps with a big white box. “Oh, let me help you.”

“I’ve got it, ’tisn’t heavy.” She laid the white box on the white duvet. “So when we talked about weddings, and dresses and flowers and all of that, I had this thought.”

After opening the box, she folded back layers and layers of tissue paper, then lifted out a long white dress.

Iona’s gasp was exactly the reaction she’d hoped for.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Just gorgeous.”

“It is, yes. My great-grandmother wore it on her wedding day, and I thought it might suit for yours.”

Eyes wide, Iona took a quick step back. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t, Branna, it should be for you, for yours. It was your great-grandmother’s.”

“And she’s your blood as well as mine. It wouldn’t suit me, though it’s lovely. The style’s not for me. And she was petite, as you are.”

Head cocked, Branna held the dress in front of Iona. “I’ll ask you to try it on—indulge me in that. If it doesn’t suit, if it isn’t what pleases you, no harm done.”

“Try it on then, Iona. You’re frothing to.”

“Okay, okay! Oh, this is fun.” She began to strip, all but dancing as she did. “I never thought I’d be trying on a wedding dress today.”

“You’ve the unders for a honeymoon.” Meara raised her brows at Iona’s lacy pale blue bra and matching panties.

“I’ve bought an entire new supply. It’s proven to be an excellent investment.” She laughed as Branna helped her step into the dress.

“Button up the back, will you, Meara?” Branna said as Iona carefully slid her arms in the thin lace sleeves.

“There are a million of them, and so tiny, and pretty like pearls.”

“She was Siobhan O’Ryan, who married Colm O’Dwyer, and was an aunt to your own grandmother, Iona, if I’ve got it all straight. The length’s good as you’ll be wearing heels, I imagine.” Branna fluffed the tiers of lace-edged tulle.

“It might’ve been made for you the way it fits.” Meara continued to fasten buttons.